By Any Road
by orgasmicgratz
Summary: A human and a turian find friendship in their childhood. His military career separates them for ten years, but one day she receives an invitation. Human/Turian OCs, Pre ME1 events
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Mass Effect. Please don't use my OCs without permission.

I started this on a whim, after listening to the conversation between the asari/turian couple at the souvenir shop in ME2. This is a human/turian story, but I might try asari/turian once I get comfortable. ME is damn addictive, and I am and forever will be a sucker for inter-species relationships.

This chapter begins ten years after the First Contact War, and the main body of the story will be about a year before the events of ME. Forgive my weird page breaks, I'm in a mood.

* * *

She was barely five when they met, bullied for her stutter. The other humans had made a target of her every day, but it usually consisted of the same tired insults: "N-n-naama c-c-can't t-t-talk! P-poor N-naama gonna cry t-t-to teacher!" They were mostly under ten as well, and not exactly what Toren would call creative. But it hurt the young human, her tears proof enough.

Toren was ten, and taller than most of the humans that bothered Naama. He'd been minding his own business, walking home from school when their bullying morphed from (relatively) harmless cruelty to real violence.

His father, Syphus Alaeron, had made it clear to Toren that he was not to retaliate if humans bullied him. They were the only turian family on the entire colony, placed there by the military to watch the human colonists and act as a sort of diplomat. The colony supplied copious amounts of a rare-earth metal that was crucial in the manufacture of a new kind of shield the turian military was desperate to outfit their fleet with.

He and his family were there to remind the colonists who paid their wages, and as a show of goodwill to imply that their shields were _not _to prepare for another war. The passing of ten years had done little to relieve the tension between the species, and the Alaeron family was admittedly in a dangerous position. But it was necessary.

If Toren were to get into a fight with humans, racist and bigoted as they were, they would blame the lone turian child. They might turn on the turian family, even Laisa Alaeron, Toren's remarkably open-minded mother.

Despite the warnings and the danger, Toren couldn't help crossing the street when the Leah, the tallest of the group of bullies, pushed the little brown haired girl down. He wasn't allowed to start fights or even to defend himself, but this wasn't that. He was defending a human. Surely this, _this_ was permissible where _that_ wasn't. He already knew his logic was going the wrong direction, but he really didn't care. One of the boys, a scrawny pale fellow, tried to take Naama's backpack.

"Leave her alone," the young turian growled, grabbing every child's attention.

* * *

Naama didn't know why she stuttered. She'd done it forever, but her father told her she would grow out of it some day. Her teacher made her come to class a half an hour early every day to see the special kids' teacher, and she made the five year old recite poems and songs. When Naama sang, she didn't stutter.

But the other kids didn't care that she was going to get better some day. Leah, the fifth grade girl, would sneer at her and make fun of her when they all queued for lunch. She got the other kids to follow her halfway home, making fun of her. Her father told her not to say anything back, to pretend they didn't exist so they would get bored and go away, but it never worked. They always followed her. And then one day, when Naama was trying her hardest to pretend Leah and the others didn't exist, the fifth grade girl pushed her onto the sidewalk.

Naama lost her breath, shocked by the pain of her bottom striking the concrete. For a moment the world went black, and all Naama could think about was running home. Then someone started pulling her backpack off.

"W-w-w…" Naama tried to say. "L-leave m-m-m…" It was barely a whisper, and the tears she'd been fighting began to slide down her cheeks.

"Leave her alone."

Naama's neck hurt, she looked up so fast. The flanging voice, so unlike any human, was confident and strong. When she found the source of her defender she almost started crying harder. The turian from the fifth grade. He never talked to anybody unless he had to, and he never played with anybody. Her father said turians were mean and bad.

His green eyes flashed, bright against his brown skin. His face was painted with white marks.

The children around her were silent for a long moment, but Leah was the first to recover. "Go away, cockroach."

"Get up," the turian said, looking straight at Naama. She gulped, for a moment more afraid of him than of her bullies.

"I said," Leah growled, "Go. _Away._ Or else."

"Or else what?" the turian snapped. "You'll push me down? Try it!" His mandibles flared, making him look like a monster.

Leah stepped back, clearly surprised by the bold display. "I'll tell on you," the fifth grader threatened.

"What will you say?" the turian jeered. "I wouldn't let you beat up a first grader? You know, turians don't lie. Not like you." Leah started to bristle at the insult, but the turian just walked right past her like the meanest girl in school didn't exist. He offered Naama his hand. "Let's go," he said quietly.

She stared at his hand, feeling like she had to choose between the frying pan and the fire. But his green eyes, though small, were pretty. And he sounded friendly when he talked to her. Gingerly, she took his strange three-fingered hand and let him help her up.

"What are you doing?" Edgar, a third grader, yelped. "He's a _turian._"

Naama swallowed nervously, letting the turian lead her past Leah.

"If you go with that turian, we'll make sure you regret it," Leah warned, nearly shrieking.

The five year old opened her mouth to respond, but the turian beat her to it.

"You won't be bothering her anymore." He turned, blocking Naama from their view. "If I ever see you bullying her again, I'll make sure you all _regret it_. Remember, turians don't lie."

With that, he turned sharply, tugging her hand along as he took off at a quick clip. Naama struggled to keep up with his enormous stride.

He was obviously angry, his mandibles flaring and clamping down over and over as he stared ahead. They charged nearly two blocks before Naama stumbled, and the turian ground to a halt under a tall shade tree.

"Sorry," his muttered, his strange voice conspicuous in the quiet. "I just got so mad."

"It's ok," she whispered.

He scanned her, sizing her up. "You shouldn't let them bully you like that. Tell your teacher, ask your mom or dad to meet you after school."

"Dad, h-he c-can't. He h-has to w-work."

"So, your mom."

She looked down, flushing with embarrassment. "She l-left."

"Huh?" The turian was obviously confused. "When's she coming back?"

"N-never," Naama's voice barely managed to make it to the turian. "She h-has an-nuh-nother f-f-fam-mily…"

The turian watched her struggle, the sighed. "Don't get upset, I'm sorry. I didn't mean bring it up… You stutter more when you're upset, huh," he observed.

"Y-yeah," she whispered.

"My name's Toren Alaeron," he offered abruptly.

"I'm N-naama M-Miller."

"Come on," Toren suggested, tugging the hand he still held. "I'll take you home."

She followed along meekly, sneaking glances at the tall turian. He was almost the color of chocolate milk. The white marks on his face reminded her of marshmallows melted into a cup of hot cocoa. He was so strangely shaped, with hard skin and sharp points. Kind of like a bug.

"I thought t-turians w-were m-mean," she dared, regretting it instantly.

"We're not mean," Toren grumbled.

"D-daddy said t-turians killed a l-lot of p-people."

"That was a long time ago. We're on the same side now." Toren's father didn't hate humans, it was why he'd been sent to this colony, but that didn't mean he actually _liked _them. Toren didn't really care, so long as they didn't bother him.

"And you h-helped m-me."

"It was the right thing to do," Toren mumbled, rubbing his neck with his free hand.

"Th-this is m-my house," Naama mumbled back, tugging on the taller turian to pull him to a stop. He let her hand go. "Th-thanks… Toren." She hoped effort she put into his name wasn't too obvious. She covered up her nervousness by going to lift the latch to the little white fence that surrounded her family's module. The grass, green and lush, needed cutting.

"Naama. How about I walk you home from now on? You only live three modules down from me."

"Really?" She stood barely taller than the fence, but Toren could see the smile in her pale blue eyes, though they were red and puffy from crying.

"Yeah," he said, trying hard not to smile back. It usually made humans nervous when he smiled.

* * *

Toren walked Naama home every day. At first Naama was afraid that the kids would bully her even harder when Toren wasn't around, but somehow he always managed to be in the right place. He was in the same class as Leah, so whenever she was around Naama he was too. He had to sit with his class at lunch, but his sharp stare was enough to deter Leah when she got that mean look in her eyes.

When Toren found out she was home alone for two hours every evening waiting for her dad to come home, he started to stay with her. They played behind her module, in the woods behind the colony. They pretended to be explorers, braving uncharted worlds and facing off whole hoards of thresher maw and varren. For an entire week they even fended off an army of krogan.

About six months after Toren first started walking Naama home, the two of them were off for the summer. They met every day in the woods behind the modules, escaping into the shade to avoid the heat of the day.

"Toren!" Naama cried as soon as she heard his familiar steps crunching over the broken twigs and dead leaves of the woods. "I found something!"

"What is it?" he asked curiously, speeding up a bit.

"Look!" she shrieked joyfully, appearing out of nowhere and thrusting a fuzzy blue insect under his nose. "It's so pretty!"

"Ah!" he yelped, his foot sliding on a twig that refused to break. He fell on his behind on the cushioned ground, Naama laughing at his undignified position.

"Sorry, Toren," she giggled, reaching down to help him up.

"It's ok," the turian sighed, smiling. She'd learned quickly what his smile meant, and it didn't startle her anymore. What really pleased him, though, was that she was starting to get better with her stutter when they were in the woods together. Once they were out in the open the stutter came back in force, but in here it was like she didn't have any problems at all.

His mother said it was probably best not to say anything, since drawing attention to it might make her self-conscious.

"Just let her build her confidence on her own," his mother had said, pouring him a cup of spiced tea. He and his mother would always sit and talk when his father was at work. He hadn't really talked to Syphus about the human, though the older turian new he walked the girl home. His mother thought he was being very noble, however, and he didn't mind telling her about the human girl.

He took the hand she offered him, but instead of trying to stand he just dragged her down to the ground with him. She landed in a giggling heap next to him and he was laughing too, until he realized the bug had landed on his chest.

* * *

Toren taught Naama to climb trees on her sixth birthday. They'd often discussed turning one tree in particular into a fort, its sprawling nature and plentiful low branches making it perfect for a secret clubhouse or base of operations. Naama could make it into the lowest part of the tree on her own, but Toren had to help her get higher.

So he found himself reaching down to pull her up many times, both of them completely unafraid of the distance growing between them and the ground. Once they made it high enough into the leaves, they couldn't even _see_ the ground.

"Toren," Naama nudged the Turian, who sat in the fork of a branch just a few feet from her. "Today in class, our teacher had us write a story about our best friend. I wrote mine about you. We're best friends, right?"

The eleven year old stared at her, sort of surprised, but then to the young girl's relief he smiled. "Yeah. We'll always be best friends."

She grinned, completely unaware of the fact that she hadn't stuttered once.

* * *

Four years passed peacefully. Toren grew rapidly, starting to show signs of being at least as tall as his father. Naama remained somewhat small, which only served to make the adolescent turian look even larger. The colony had long since come to accept that the turian youth walked Naama home. He never did anything wrong, he did well in school, and he was polite to every adult he spoke to. The only people who didn't like him were his fellow students.

He really didn't care, though. He was getting busy these days, preparing for his future. His father wanted him to enlist on his fifteenth birthday, and he had every intention of doing so.

Except, he hadn't told Naama yet.

Two weeks before he was supposed to ship out, Toren and Naama met in their tree. It'd evolved over the years, gaining decorations and some seating made out of nailed on boards. They'd even created flooring in the easier spots. They climbed together into the highest place they dared, completely surrounded by leaves. They were mostly orange and yellow now, preparing for the mild fall. Toren's green eyes stood out like emeralds in the summer, but in the fall his brown coloring made him look like a part of the tree itself.

She stretched out, precariously balanced across three different branches. Toren chose something sturdier, his own weight much less forgiving. Neither of them had ever fallen from the tree, and he didn't ever plan to.

"I hate my class," Naama mumbled, looking sideways into the leaves. "We were talking about the first contact war today, and they couldn't shut up about your dad. They said he killed a lot of humans."

"He probably did," Toren said distractedly, fingering the little box he'd hidden in his tunic pocket. "He was stationed on Shanxi. It's where he got hurt. A human is the reason he had to retire, though, so it's not like he got off easy." His father had a distinct limp, an old wound that hadn't healed properly in the POW camp the humans had maintained for a little over two weeks while the very first negotiations were being made. They'd tried to be fair to the prisoners, giving the turians full access to their safe rations and trying to administer first aid. They just didn't know anything about dextro medical care.

"That's what I said, but they didn't care. They just want to hate turians so bad."

"You would too, probably."

She shook her head hard, but didn't try to deny it out loud. They both knew that if he hadn't made a point of her protecting her when she was so young and impressionable, they probably never would've even spoken.

"Naama, I wanted to talk to you about something," Toren dared, nearly half an hour after they'd come to the tree house.

The nine-going-on-ten year old propped herself up on her elbows, looking at Toren expectantly.

"I'm leaving in two weeks. I enlisted."

* * *

Her heart nearly stopped. She felt the color drain from her face, heard him apologizing for not saying anything sooner, but the words just broke over her. He was leaving in two weeks.

"You're m-my best friend," she muttered, picking furiously at the bark nearest her sudden anxious hands. "I thought w-we'd…"

* * *

Her stuttering was proof enough that she was upset. She never stuttered in the woods or when she was with him, and her stuttering in public had improved in all but the most stressful situations.

"I wish we could just be like this forever, too," Toren sighed, pulling the little box from his pocket, "but we can't. I have to go, it's not an option."

"Will I ever s-see you again?" she whispered. Her voice always dropped to barely audible ranges when she was about to cry, and he wasn't sure a human would've heard her.

"Sure you will. We'll keep in touch, and when I'm high enough ranked or have shore leave I'll be sure to visit you. But until then, I have something for you."

She stared at him, dead-eyed. Her stomach was tight and painful, and she felt dizzy. He wasn't just her best friend, she wanted to say, but her only friend. She didn't play with anyone else after school. Didn't tell anyone else her secrets. She didn't _want_ to. The others gave her a hard time about it, but… it hadn't mattered, as long as he'd been there to keep her safe.

He opened the little box, lifting a delicate golden chain with a plain round pendant.

"It's a locket," he said as if it needed explaining, prying the little thing open and looking at it. She leaned closer to see, and he shifted so that she could look as well.

The left side of the locket was engraved simply: _For my dearest friend._ On the right, a tiny copy of a picture they'd taken at the fifteenth birthday party she'd insisted on for Toren just a month ago. Her father had taken this picture, and Naama had given it to Toren afterwards.

The brown turian had leaned over her shoulder, surprising the younger human at his proximity. He rarely touched her, and usually only to take her hand for some reason or other. But he'd hugged her, and she'd nearly blushed until she realized her father was waving a camera. They were just posing. She'd leaned towards the turian and smiled for the camera, her blush managing to stay under control.

She sniffled, rubbing at her eyes with one hand. "I can't b-believe this," she muttered helplessly. "Why do you have to g-go, Toren?"

"It's custom," he sighed, snapping the locket closed and taking the hand she'd been so viciously rubbing her eyes with. The cold metal pressed into her palm, and she closed her hand around it and his fingers.

"Forget the custom," she begged, staring up into his pained eyes. "Don't go."

"I'm sorry, Naama. I really am."

The tears she'd been fighting escaped then, and she hunched over, trying to hide it from him. Awkwardly, Toren braced himself against the tree's branches and leaned over enough to put his arm around her shoulders.

"Don't cry, Naama. I'll send you messages every day, and when I'm allowed we can talk on the vid. It's not forever, when I turn twenty-five I'll be allowed to settle down somewhere. And I'll pick here, ok?"

"That would be dumb," she whispered. "There aren't any other turians but your mom and dad.

He was silent for so long she was afraid she'd angered him, but then he rubbed her arm. "You're here. That's what matters."

She cried again. It wasn't the last time they sat in the tree together before he left, but it was the first and last time she cried on his shoulder.

* * *

Naama blinked furiously, trying to clear the tears that had inexplicably welled up at the abused old memory. Ten years had passed since she'd seen Toren, though she'd been corresponding with him on and off most of that time. They'd never used the vids like he'd promised, but she didn't really care.

When he told her in his latest message that he was going to get a job on the Citadel, her heart had dropped to her feet. He'd said he'd come back.

But then…

_I know this isn't really traditional, but… if you want to come here too, I'll help find you a job. We can share an apartment until we're both on our feet._

She put the datapad on her bed, determined to ignore the invitation, but somehow she found herself telling her father that she wanted to move to the Citadel just two days later.

* * *

Being the raunchy lady I am, I will probably change the rating to M eventually. *laughs maniacally*

Be sure to review!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the favs and alerts, guys :D And a special thanks to those who reviewed, you made me extra extra happy :) Your comments and suggestions keep me on track, otherwise this would quickly spiral into a nonsensical smutstravaganza. Not sayin' there's anything wrong with that...

* * *

"Why do you want to move to the Citadel? You don't know anybody there, and believe me, life's a _lot _harder in the big city life. Things cost more, more stress, it's dangerous!"

"Dad," Naama sighed, picking at her dinner. "I will know someone there. Toren Alaeron, Syphus's son. We were best friend when we were kids."

"He was in the military for ten years, Naama!" The lasagna, her father's favorite food and chosen specifically to butter him up, was forgotten. "How do you know he's anything like he used to be? What if he hates humans?"

"He doesn't hate humans," Naama mumbled, stuffing some cheesy pasta into her mouth. "He even said he'd help me find a job."

"And where would you live, huh? It's not cheap getting an apartment!" Her father shoved a wad of lasagna on his fork as well, as if to chew the ridiculous idea up and be rid of it.

"Um… Toren's going to help."

The older man choked on his too-large bite. "What?" He finally hacked. "_Toren_ is going to pay for you apartment? Something's fishy, here…"

"We're going to split rent, just until we can afford to live on our own. We've been talking the whole time since he left, you know, he's not a stranger, dad."

"But the Citadel! It's so far away, and there's no guarantee you'll even like it there. There's no real sky, and no natural places. What if you're miserable?" He stood up to grab himself a beer, pausing to hack several chesty coughs along the whole way.

"Then I'll save up to move back and you can laugh all day about how stupid I was. But I really want to go, dad."

"Naama, You don't know what people are like," her father sighed after he coughed into his hand. "Toren might be a friendly face, but he's a turian. He's not going to take care of you, and people out there aren't like they are here. They'll take advantage of you."

Naama stiffened, considering forcing down another bite before dropping her fork. "Not everybody's like mom, dad."

"You can't tell who isn't," he shot back. "She was the sweetest thing I ever saw, and gods, I loved her with everything. I gave her everything. But that rich bastard came through with his gods damned unlimited chit, and she left us. She left her husband and her four-year-old daughter! For money! And you stuttered for years after it, you know. It was your mother's fault. If a mother will do that to her family, to her flesh and blood, don't tell me a stranger won't do worse to you for less."

"I am _not a child_, dad. I won't do anything stupid, and Toren _will_ help me," she insisted, twisting the conversation away from her mother. Her father's face was starting to turn red, and he was sick enough as it was without have his blood pressure spike. "He wouldn't have invited me if he didn't really want me there!"

"He's a turian!" Her father's voice exploded, then dissolved into coughs.

"He's my friend," Naama said flatly, standing up. "Dad, I love you. But I don't want to spend my whole life here. I've got a chance to find something else on the Citadel. I'm going."

She tried to pretend she didn't hear him crying late that night.

* * *

Naama picked at her safety belt, waiting anxiously for the ship to dock. She'd been on this passenger ship for over a week now, waiting for it to make its way from this to that relay while loading and unloading passengers. It was cheap enough to afford, meaning she'd lost all the quick and direct convenience of a more expensive ship.

But in just a few minutes the steward would tell them they could get up and disembark and she'd step onto the Citadel for the first time. She'd see Toren for the first time in ten years.

She picked at the safety belt hard enough to start fraying the edge. The asari sitting next to her smiled and patted the seat rest between them.

"First time on the Citadel?"

Naama eyeballed the asari. She was beautiful, no question there, but before the trip she'd never seen a real one before. But now she'd seen asari, salarians and turians, more than she'd ever dreamed of. Just here on the _ship_.

"Yeah. I'm kinda nervous."

"You're meeting someone?"

"Yeah, an old friend. My new roommate."

"Human?" The asari inquired. Naama might have been annoyed by her nosing around, but for some reason the way the asari said it didn't bother her.

"Turian."

"How wonderful," the asari said with a strangely approving smile.

Before Naama could ask about the Citadel, the steward stepped out of his cubby at the front of the docking seating and started talking.

It was true, Naama was intimidated. She hadn't even seen the extent of the actual Citadel yet, but the baggage claim alone was enough to terrify her. Aliens everywhere, hanar and elcor and even a couple of krogan all walking around, along with the slightly less alarming council species. There were humans, but not as many as she'd expected.

She felt very small as she hefted her one suitcase from the belt, popping the little wheels out and heaving it to the floor with a plastic _crack_. When she tried to roll it, she realized the cracking sound had actually been one of the wheels breaking off. Great.

Sighing heavily, she was trying to decide the best way to carry her oversized luggage when she felt someone standing far too close for comfort.

"Need help with that?" A resonant voice inquired.

"No, I've got it, thanks," Naama mumbled, refusing to make eye contact with the big turian standing over her.

"I remember when you used to make me carry all the lumber for the tree house, and you'd only take the hammer and nails. This is an improvement."

Naama's eyes widened and she slowly looked up to the turian's face, taking in the familiar white clan markings and finally the laughing green eyes she'd missed for so long.

Toren stumbled back when she threw herself against him, laughing lightly as she alternated between laughing and something that wasn't quite crying. They shared a hug for a few seconds, until Naama realized that they were getting several stares. She pulled back abruptly, rubbing the back of her neck at the same time he went to massage his.

"Hey," she said, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness. "You… you got big," she said stupidly.

"You stayed little, runt," he said, grinning helplessly. She had topped out at five feet four inches, but the turian had at least ten inches on her.

"I'm average," she huffed, crossing her arms. His voice was deeper, and he held himself differently now. He'd always been sure of himself, but there was a deep confidence in him now, a level of control he hadn't had before. He made he feel better. And his eyes were the same green.

"Sure, me too. Want me to carry your bag? I see it's broken," he goaded.

"You don't have to," Naama mumbled. "I can do it."

"Sure, but I can do it without all the fuss," he smiled, taking his own initiative and lifting up the suitcase without effort. It impressed her, considering that it probably weighed as much as she did.

"You look good," she heard herself saying without any intention to.

He looked sideways at her and the unsettling turian smile came back, laced with mischief. "You too, for a human."

She felt herself flushing with embarrassment and looked down. This wasn't the same as when they were kids. He was a confident, strong adult with a career already behind him. He'd seen the galaxy. He could do anything he wanted with his life. And she… well, she'd only just graduated from a class of thirty. She had no higher education, no experience and next to no money.

"It was a joke," Toren amended, shifting the suitcase to pat her shoulder. "Really, you look great. Your hair is looking, ah, shiny."

"Thanks, Toren," she said, trying hard not to let herself get too worried. When she worried her stutter sometimes came back. She didn't want him to see her stutter now. It felt like the utmost importance that he not see her do that, even though he'd had entire conversations with her as a stuttering mess in their childhood. Five years of them. She glanced down and his large spurs caught her attention.

"Whoa, your ankle spikes got huge!" she gasped.

"Uh," he began, "it's probably best not to talk about spurs so loudly… It's… like if I said something about your behind."

Somewhere along the way to utter mortification Naama took a u-turn and found herself laughing. Soon, her turian roommate was chuckling along with her, and her cultural faux pas was quickly forgotten.

* * *

"So, this is home," Toren juggled the suitcase and a card to swipe in the door's lock. The door slid open with a soft whoosh, and the big turian went in, touching light pads as he went. "Sorry the lights aren't on motion detection, I get up at night sometimes and I don't like them coming on."

"That's ok," she assured him, following behind. The apartment was small, there was no question there. There were three pieces of furniture, a long couch and two reasonably comfortable looking chairs. A small kitchen was off to the left, and a hallway went off to the right. Toren went to the hallway.

"Bathroom's over here. I took the room on the right, it has higher shelves. I didn't know if you'd be able to use them, and what do you know, I was right." He nudged her room's door pad and it slid open. The motion detection was still on in this room, and it flickered on to reveal a veritable shoebox. The bed wasn't much, but it was still twice as wide as the bunk she'd had on the passenger ship. Toren slipped the suitcase on it.

"It's nice," she offered, though its lack of windows was disconcerting. He watched her eyes trailing over the bare walls and shrugged.

"I'll go out with you to find some decorations tomorrow. My job doesn't start for three more days, so we've got all the time in the world. Ah, groceries, too, first thing. I don't have anything you can eat besides water."

She nodded and unzipped her suitcase. "What job are you starting, Toren?"

He paused, leaning against the doorframe on the edge of her periphery. Finally he answered. "A gun range."

"Yeah? I thought you'd go into that police thing, C-Sec or something."

"That was what everybody wanted me to do. But… I just want to breathe a while. I want a chance to relax."

There was something in his voice that told her something wasn't well. She turned away from her vacuum packed things and looked straight at her old friend.

"Are you ok, Toren?"

Turians didn't ask questions like that on their ships. How are you feeling? What would you like? Are you _ok_ never inquired into anything but whether or not a soldier was physically sound. But she was asking him, looking him right in the eye and asking about his emotional well-being.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his neck in the old habit he'd never cared to weed out. "Just glad to have a few choices now, you know."

"Ok," she said, looking down at his whole casual posture before turning back to the bed. "I just… you're different."

"So are you." He couldn't help taking her in while he had the luxury of privacy. Her hair was longer than she'd kept it when she was young, and a little darker now. She had grown curves, something that would probably make her more attractive to human males. She was still small and delicate, the qualities that had made her a target as a child now simply making her female. She had grown up too.

There was silence in the room, and Toren considered going back to the living area and turning on the vid. Maybe she wanted privacy? He was about to move away when she started speaking again.

"After you left," she began in that nervous whisper he remembered so well, "the other kids… it was the strangest thing. They never really liked me for being your friend, but after you left they acted like it never happened. Like they'd never bullied me, and you hadn't been the only person I'd talk to for five years. Some of the boys asked me out when we had dances, once they realized I didn't stutter anymore. Remember Edgar?"

"Scrawny, even by my standards," Toren chuckled.

"He got a little better," Naama said kindly. "Anyway… I turned them all down. I couldn't, not after the way they looked at you in school. The way nobody else would let us play with them if we tried."

"You should have let it go, Naama," Toren sighed. While deep down he was relieved that her loyalty to their friendship hadn't wavered, it hurt him to know she'd ostracized herself. He hadn't been faced with that, surrounded by other turians his own age who were just as unsure and eager as himself and completely unaware of his childhood on a human colony.

"And do what, marry a miner?" The bitterness in her voice was something he could almost taste in the air. "I never wanted to stay there. None of those people ever wanted to leave. You saw my dad, how tired he was when he came home. How he coughs. It's gotten worse, and the colony insurance only covers treatment of the symptoms, not the problem. He'll die in that mine."

"Well, you're here now at least," Toren said awkwardly, unsure of what to say to the morbid thought. "What do you think of the Citadel so far?"

"It's big. And there are a lot of people," she grumbled, turning to look at him. She stared at him, her blue eyes huge by his standards. At least they weren't half her head like a salarian's. "I got my best friend back, what do I care about anything?"

"Yeah." Spirits, but it felt good to know he still meant something to her. He didn't know why it mattered so much, but it did. He felt lighter now, like the tension he hadn't realized he was carrying melted away. "I missed you, Naama," he dared.

Her unguarded stare wavered, and she glanced down before looking back up. "I missed you too, Toren." She crossed the small room in a few steps and leaned on the frame opposite him. Picking up his hand from where it rested on his hip, she turned his palm over before wrapping her many small fingers around his thicker ones. "I never showed anybody else our tree. I fell out of it once, too. You were always so careful up there, but without you I just didn't think about it. I broke my wrist, and all I remember thinking was that it wouldn't have happened if you were there." Tears started pooling in her eyes. "I _really_ m-missed you, Toren."

Her voice trailed into the usual whisper that meant she was upset, and before he could think he shifted across the little distance between them, letting her lean against him if she chose. He'd watched humans do this, though with his own kind it would be seen as horribly patronizing. Thankfully she accepted his tentative offer and pressed her face to his shoulder, a little sigh shivering out of her.

She didn't flinch when he lifted his hand to rest on her shoulder. He didn't know why he expected her to.

* * *

Remember to review, lovelies :D


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the favs, alerts and ESPECIALLY thank you for the reviews :D I'm so glad you guys like the idea, and if you have any fun ideas you want to see happen let me know. I'm open to suggestions ;)

I recently read an AMAZING fic called Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained by ghost.713. It's Oriana/Kolyat, a pairing I'd never considered before stumbling across this fic. And OH is it a good story. If you read it be sure to review, maybe it'll encourage them to update eh :D

* * *

Naama pulled away after just a few seconds, wiping her eyes and forcing a couple of laughs. "I made myself promise I wouldn't cry as soon as I got here," she mumbled, turning away and going back to the suitcase. "Now look at me."

"I won't tell anybody," Toren assured with a playful chuckle. "Do you need any help unpacking?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Naama rubbed her eyes once more before looking over her shoulder at her roommate. "I think I've got it for now, I always take forever to organize things."

"Oh? You didn't tell me you'd traveled before."

"No," she responded, pulling the shrunken tube that held her tops from the bag. "I just rearranged the house sometimes, when dad was too tired to care. It took days sometimes."

"You're not going to do that here are you?" Toren stood a little straighter, alarmed.

"Course not. I just did it because I was bored." Naama peeked into the little closet, grimacing at what she found. "Looks like I'm going to need to buy hangers," she muttered, taking the few strangely shaped ones that remained and setting them on the little table next to the bed. They were made for turian clothes, large and rounded to support the cowl. "Looks like you've got some spares," she said, smiling at her friend and noticing what he wore for the first time.

He was wearing blue and white, the cut more formal than what she was accustomed to seeing him in. When they were children he'd been so casual, now he looked like he expected inspection at any moment. And he was watching her watching him.

"Sorry," she said, meeting Toren's eyes. "I don't mean to stare. Just… you never sent me pics or linked me for a vid. You're so grown up."

He nodded, stepping into the room, and for a moment Naama's heart stopped. He was walking right to her, was he…?

He picked up the hangers. "I'll get these out of your way. I'll be in the living room for a couple more hours if you need anything." He glanced down at her left wrist and nodded, answering some unasked question. "Set your omnitool for 0600, we've got a busy day tomorrow."

"K," Naama mumbled, grimacing once he let the door shut behind him. She was on a different schedule, and she doubted she'd manage any sleep "tonight." Not with so much on her mind.

* * *

Toren had been up long enough to shower and make himself something to drink by the time Naama dragged herself out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen.

"Water," she grumbled, searching the cabinets for a glass.

Toren leaned around her and plucked a blue cup from the cabinet. She took the cup, glancing at the cabinet. Oddly, the cabinet was color coordinated. Blue dishes on one side, green on the other.

"OCD much?" she asked, turning to the faucet in the sink and filling her glass.

"Not really. I'll use the green, you'll use the blue. It reduces the chance of us cross contaminating if we're allergic. It's how asari and turian couples do it."

"Oh," she said, trying to sound nonchalant and hiding her flush at the mention of couples behind her cup. "Makes sense," she grumbled after several fast gulps. "You think we're allergic, though? We hung out for five years. If one of us was going to puff up we wouldn't we have done it already?"

"I was tested when I enlisted. I have a really mild allergy, some swelling and bumps. Nothing life threatening, but you might be different. We're in much closer quarters now, sharing things like cooking surfaces and a bathroom. I'd rather not risk anything. There are epipens for both of us under the kitchen and bathroom sink."

"Sure," she said quickly. "I don't want to risk anything either. I guess you've been researching how to make this safer, then?"

"An asari friend gave me some pointers," he said, sipping his drink. It smelled good, but that was the extent of her knowledge on it. "Here, I'll put in on your omnitool." He fiddled with his and she raised hers up until they linked and her readout said _file received._

"I didn't expect you to have one of these," Toren admitted. "What good would it do you back home?"

"It was a present," she said slowly.

"Yeah? What was the occasion?" Toren leaned over the counter, eying her with innocent interest.

"Going away present."

"From?" He asked, dragging it out curiously.

"Well… don't get upset or anything." She rolled her cup between her palms nervously. "Your mother gave it to me after I told her I was going to move in with you. She was surprised when I told her."

The turian couldn't seem to figure out what to ask first, struggling for a moment before finally blurting, "My _mother_ gave you an omnitool?"

"She said it wasn't safe to be on a space station without one."

"Have you ever even used an omnitool?"

"No, but I read the manual on the shuttle."

Toren blanched. "What did Syphus say when he heard I asked you to come?"

"I don't know, he isn't usually home when I visit. But Laisa was happy. She said you'd stopped writing her. She left a note for you, with me, actually. Remind me to give it to you after we shop today. I'm not quite sure where it's stashed right now."

Toren just hmphed, sipping his drink and hunching a little more over the counter while looking away pointedly.

"I didn't know it was a secret," Naama said, straightening defensively. "If you're embarrassed living with a human I don't have to stay here."

"And where would you go?" Toren asked, his tone hardly gentle.

"I don't know," Naama growled. "But why would you invite me here if you didn't want me here?"

"I do want you here!" Toren insisted, straightening up. It was harder for her to glare so furiously at him when he was towering over her like that. "I just…"

"Just what, Toren?"

"Just didn't want dad to know. That's all. He chose to take the human colony job, and there weren't many turians at the time who would. But it doesn't mean he _likes_ humans, Naama, and he'll think I'm just trying to disappoint him or something. He thinks that if I'm not going to try to move up in the military I should find a good woman and settle down, raise some kids. He'll just see this as a rebellion or something to make him mad personally."

Toren slumped again as he spoke, finally walking around Naama in the tiny kitchen and going to the couch in the living room. She followed, feeling bad for thinking the worst, and sat on the arm of the couch opposite him.

"I didn't know you and your dad weren't getting along. Your mom never said anything about it."

Toren glanced over at her, his mandibles clamping tightly to his face. "You mean, you visited her a lot?"

"Yeah, all the time. She's really nice. Lots of people visit her."

Toren seemed dumbfounded at this, staring at his hands, limp in his lap.

"Every time we ever talked about you your dad always said good things about you."

"He wouldn't want to embarrass the family," Toren grumbled. "But wait til he hears I didn't go into C-sec."

"It doesn't matter, Toren," Naama assured him, sliding off the couch arm and leaning across the space between him as if she might touch him. "It isn't your job to keep him happy. I made dad mad too when I left. So we're both in trouble with the folks."

Toren relaxed a little, slumping towards the middle of the couch and resting the side of his head against the couch to stare at her. "I was really surprised you agreed to live with me," he revealed after a long moment of silence.

"I was surprised you asked," Naama chuckled and flashed him a grin. "But I figured if I'm going to go on an adventure, I might as well go with you."

"I wish my life still felt like an adventure," Toren sighed, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. He only opened his eyes when Naama's stomach gurgled hollowly. "Um, Naama?"

She rubbed her stomach apologetically. "Haven't had breakfast yet," she reminded him.

"Oh! Right. Finish getting ready and we'll get you something to eat, then shop."

Naama jumped up and ran for the shower as if a varren was on her heels.

* * *

Toren took her through their ward, showing her all the shops and paying for much of what she needed. When she protested he reminded her that he hadn't had much to spend his money on in the military, and he liked helping. So Naama let him, but still tried to pass her chit over the counters every time. Toren was just faster.

She blamed the shock, or jetlag. There were bright neon lights everywhere, advertisements that knew her name and Toren's, way more aliens than humans, strange smells and strange music. But no matter how overwhelmed she knew she should feel, Toren's presence at her side was a comfort.

A few hours later they were both laden with bags and boxes. They deposited their haul at home in a heap on the couch and began sorting things out before heading back out for lunch and groceries.

They went to one of the many little food joints in their part of the ward, paying at the counter but sitting where they pleased. They were eyeing each other's meals suspiciously when someone squealed at the door and came rushing over. An asari slid into Toren's booth seat, not quite throwing his plate across the table and squeezing the stiffened turian into a hug. Her purplish blue hue was emphasized by the garish yellow of the booth.

"I heard you got a new roommate and it's a _scandal_, the asari cooed, practically sitting in the turian's lap. Her leg bumped Naama's knee as the asari somehow curled one leg over Toren's despite being hindered by a long dress. "What is she, quarian? I've heard of it happening, the whole dextros sticking together thing, and there's that _Fleet and Flotilla_ book that they're talking about adapting into a movie, but I didn't think-"

"This is my roommate," Toren growled, easing the asari off him a bit. "Soni, meet Naama."

The asari looked at Naama for the first time, and the human couldn't help feeling like a bug under a microscope. An unattractive bug.

"Oh!" Soni said, grinning in a way that left Naama wanting to disappear. "Well, a human's not so bad. You're, ah, new to the Citadel?"

"Yeah, how could you tell?" Naama asked honestly.

"People don't dress like _that_ here," Soni said with a dismissive wave.

"Soni, ease off," Toren warned.

The asari looked back to the turian next to her, inspecting him with surprise. "Oh, I get it," she finally said with a grin. "Well… I'll just leave you two to your lunch. Nice seeing you Tor. And Naama, we should get coffee some time," the asari offered unconvincingly before walking away with a sway of her hips.

Naama slouched, staring at the rest of her sandwich long after Soni was gone.

"What's wrong?" Toren asked.

"That woman," she grumbled. "Do I look ridiculous, Toren?" She gestured down at herself.

The turian couldn't have been more out of his depth. "Ah, well, I mean, you like fine…"

"My clothes," she said with a little gesture to herself. "Before we get groceries, I need to buy myself some new clothes."

Toren nodded, more in acceptance than agreement. He'd hoped he would find a way to get out of that particular shopping trip.

* * *

Naama darted into her room the moment they got home, snatching the bags and boxes Toren was carrying and adding them to her own juggled mess. She heard him chuckle faintly when she dropped her armload to her bedroom floor in a heap, and the crinkling of packages told her he was looking for a place to sit on the couch. The vid turned on after a few moments.

Pulling on her choice for the day, Naama sighed at the long dress. She'd made a point to choose several outfits that included pants, but she wanted to fit in. This one was mostly white with a little blue. She would never admit it, but she'd chosen it because it resembled Toren's clothes. Gods help her if he ever realized just how much he was on her mind.

She stepped out of her room, ready to propose dinner, but the sight of the turian asleep on the couch stopped her. Smiling faintly, she slipped to the couch and sat down slowly, trying not to jostle her roommate even a little. His eye popped open despite her efforts and her regarded her a moment before shifting to the vid screen.

"Looks nice," he said quietly.

"I think this huge skirt is kind of silly," Naama admiited.

"Me too, but it'll help you get a job." Toren gave a fearsome yawn, his mandibles stretching wide, and he sank a little deeper into the couch. "I never understood why humans and asari like to wrap themselves in a bunch of cloth, makes you vulnerable."

Naama shrugged. "I guess for humans you're supposed to have a big strong man to do the serious work. Did the asari wear skirts before humans showed up?"

Toren laughed. "Yeah, they did. I forget you've lived on a human colony your whole life sometimes… your letters always seemed so understanding."

Naama didn't answer, picking at a seam in her new dress. It was well made, and it resisted her attacks much better than the harried strap on the passenger shuttle had.

"Sorry," Toren said.

She smiled and stood up, taking the turian's hand. "I know we got groceries, but let's go out for dinner. On me."

"Uh," Toren said, standing up. "Ok, sure. Dinner."

"Great," she practically cheered, ignoring Toren's frown. She hadn't been one to fake happiness before he left, and this was all new to him. "You pick, I'm still lost out there."

* * *

Naama watched Toren bring a gelatinous orange thing to his mouth, not quite hiding her grimace. Had it _moved_ or was it just that wriggly? Her stir-fry was long forgotten. It wasn't like she'd never seen turian food. On the contrary, she'd sat at the Alareon's counter watching Laisa make dinner for Syphus on many occasions. But actually seeing it consumed… His fairly normal looking lunch hadn't prepared her for this.

"Your food isn't any better," Toren seemed to read her mind. "It looks like larvae."

"Yeah, well at least it's not squirming around," Naama said, shoving a mouthful of rice into her mouth just to make Toren grimace.

"You'll definitely impress the humans over there with those manners," Toren remarked as Naama deliberately chewed with her mouth open, chomping her jaws open and closed like a trap.

She started, looking where the turian had twitched his chin. Three men were sitting there, and one was indeed watching. His face was blank with surprise, and it only made it worse when Naama realized her mouth was still open. He leaned over and said something to his friends, and they started to look her way before Naama jerked her eyes back to the table, flushing furiously.

Toren's laughter didn't help.

"I know where you live," Naama mumbled once she'd swallowed her food, turning her body to avoid looking at the three men as much as possible.

"That goes both ways," Toren said, popping another piece of his jiggling orange dinner into his mouth. "And you might want to turn around, one of those humans is coming over."

Naama spluttered into the glass of water she'd been sipping from, eyes darting frantically.

"Are you red from choking, or embarrassment?" Toren whispered, taking obvious delight in her discomfort.

"I'll kill you, Toren," Naama snarled before slamming her glass down. Despite knowing he was coming, she still jumped when a shadow moved over her.

* * *

The human wasn't especially interesting, dark hair and brown eyes. He wore gray and blue, matching the uniforms of his companions. Toren wondered where he worked, and vaguely pondered if his job made more than the gun range would.

"Hey," the human said, posturing before Naama. She looked directly left without bothering to find the man's face, and ended up looking right at his crotch. She mechanically cranked her neck back to look at the human. Toren had never seen her interact with a male of her species, at least not since she'd matured. She didn't seem to be doing well.

"Hi," she said, though it was more of a disgruntled honk. The red in her cheeks was starting to spread to her whole face.

"You don't have to eat dinner with a cuttlebone," the man said, ignoring Toren's presence. "We're gonna head to that new "Cowboys" place a few floors down. It doesn't even serve dextro, so that's one less alien to worry about."

Toren's mandibles couldn't have been any tighter to his face. He knew that their people didn't get along, that there were extremist groups and that hate crimes still happened, but the audacity of this one was startling all the same.

"No thanks," Naama said quietly, looking down at her food.

"What, he won't let you or something? You got a problem, cuttlebone?" The human's large dark eyes zeroed in on Toren.

"The lady said no thank you," the turian said, his voice dropping a bit deeper than usual.

"I'm getting sick and tired of you god damned scaly freaks and your attitudes," the human said. The other two were watching intently, but they hadn't gotten up yet. Toren was about to retort, but Naama surprised him by standing up. She wasn't anywhere near the size of the other human, and the way she set her shoulders and lifted her chin told the turian she knew it. Then her hand lifted, brushing down the human's bare forearm.

"You don't like turians?" She sounded so innocent, Toren was starting to wonder what she was up to.

"Never met a turian I liked," the man said, plastering on a cocksure grin.

"Oh. Well, I like turians," she said, her voice starting light and sweet and rapidly hardening. "My best friend is a turian. And I don't like racist bastards with a superiority complex who think they've earned a reason to act like a prick to complete strangers. So." and her hand snapped up to his chest. The heel of her palm connected right where the turian had been trained to strike a human in hand to hand, the "solar plexus." It surprised the man, knocking his breath away and pushing him back a step, "I appreciate the invitation, but I'm gonna have to decline. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to enjoy my dinner and the company of my friend."

"Fuckin' bitch," the man started to clench his fists, but Naama put her hands on her hips. Toren couldn't see her face, but he could remember it well enough. She used to do that pose at him all the time, like when he wouldn't help her put curtains in their tree house (which didn't even have walls, much less windows) or when she found out he'd sabotaged her plans to catch a live rodent for a pet. It was shockingly intimidating then, and if anything she'd only managed to perfect it in the last ten years.

Finally, muttering more expletives than Toren cared to remember, he turned around and walked back stiffly, rubbing at his chest. Naama stood there for a bit longer before sliding back into her seat. She didn't look up at him, and when she picked up her fork it shook in her hand. She dropped it quickly, flattening her palms to the table on either side of her plate.

"Wow," Toren said, leaning forward. "I didn't know you could do that," he admitted.

"Neither did I," she said, darting a glance up at him and pushing her hair behind her ear. "I'm shaking like a leaf," she muttered. "I can't believe I didn't stutter."

"You did great," the turian said with a reassuring smile. He didn't know what possessed him, but he stretched his hand across the small table and rested his hand lightly over hers. Across the room, one of the racist humans snarled _come on!_ but stayed at their table. "But next time, I'll take care of it. If you want."

She looked at his hand, thinking, then dragged her big blue eyes back up to his. "Thanks, I don't think I'm cut out for this kind of thing."

"Drink some water, you'll feel better," Toren suggested, drawing his hand back but letting it rest just a few inches from hers. She took his advice and either the weight of the glass steadied her or she was starting to calm down. Her hand didn't shake when she put it back down and took up her fork, picking at her plate.

"Do you think this will happen a lot?" She inquired. "People getting offended just because we get along?"

"Sometimes. It's weird to see humans like that here, since according to the census over seventy percent of the people living in part of this ward are either asari or turian. Humans make up less than ten percent, and from what I've met they're usually pretty tolerant. Still, new people come through all the time."

"Do they treat humans like that here too?"

"Well, yeah. It's about the same, turians convinced humans still have it out for them the same way humans are convinced. But don't worry, it's not like the news reports like to make it sound."

Naama nodded, apparently finally calmed enough to actually lift a piece of broccoli to her mouth.

"Why _did_ you invite me here, Toren?" she asked abruptly. Toren closed his mouth, forgetting about the food he'd been about to put there. "You could've asked a lot of different people, or another turian… No more worrying about allergic reactions, right? So what made you think of me?"

_"This tree is like our house, Toren! See, there's the kitchen, and the living room, and that's where the cat will sleep!"_

_ "You got a cat?" _

_ "No, but maybe we'll get one. I heard that the Cicero family's cat is gonna have kittens. Can you believe they'll be the first kittens actually _born_ on the colony?"_

_ "I don't like their cat."_

_ "Fine. It's still our house, and we can do whatever we want with it."_

Toren smiled slightly at the memory, earning a small but confused smile from Naama. "I just thought it would be nice, I guess. I don't know."

Naama just smiled and looked at his hand, where it still rested on the table, relaxed. He just barely managed to control his breath when she calmly took his hand, holding it against her palm, her numerous little fingers curling over one finger. He was so focused on how soft her fingers felt that he almost didn't hear her question.

"Are there any trees to climb on the Citadel?"

He laughed, just a little bit thrilled that her memories had gone to the same place his had, and she pouted. "No, but there is a rock wall we can try tomorrow." Her pleased expression came back when he shifted his hand to let his thumb rest across her fingers.

"Sounds great," she said, and Toren snapped back to reality when he started to push his plate across the table, he was leaning so far forward. She didn't laugh at him, thank the spirits.

* * *

Tell me what you think, and thanks for reading :D


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